


Vermillion

by Tah the Trickster (TahTheTrickster)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, D/s, F/F, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Shibari, Spanking, Strap-Ons, Touch-Reactive Strap-Ons, Wing Kink, You Feel Your Sins Crawling Down Your Back.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 01:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11749458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TahTheTrickster/pseuds/Tah%20the%20Trickster
Summary: Angela should have, in retrospect, suspected that her girlfriend was up to no good as soon as she received the photo message on the dropship back to the Watchpoint. It was unusual for Amélie to even attempt to be bold when she thought Angela might genuinely be working. It wasn't... exactly an inappropriate picture, Angela supposed, except in the way it affected her—in the way Amélie knew it affected her. To anyone else, the two-word text message accompanying it ("Miss you") was more damning than the selfie of her girlfriend made up and lounging on the couch in a black turtleneck. But Amélie, god damn her, was a very calculating individual, and she knew exactly how to push her girlfriend's buttons with even that.And lord, but the woman was devastating in scarlet lipstick.





	Vermillion

**Author's Note:**

> i asked ppl for nsfw mercymaker prompts and sort of just,,,,,, slammed them all together and then took 84 years to write the whole thing
> 
> take this and get away from me

Angela should have, in retrospect, suspected that her girlfriend was up to no good as soon as she received the photo message on the dropship back to the Watchpoint. It was unusual for Amélie to even  _ attempt _ to be bold when she thought Angela might genuinely be working. It wasn't...  _ exactly _ an inappropriate picture, Angela supposed, except in the way it affected her—in the way Amélie  _ knew _ it affected her. To anyone else, the two-word text message accompanying it ("Miss you") was more damning than the selfie of her girlfriend made up and lounging on the couch in a black turtleneck. But Amélie, god  _ damn _ her, was a very calculating individual, and she knew exactly how to push her girlfriend's buttons with even that.

A nd lord, but the woman was devastating in scarlet lipstick.

But really, Angela should've known better. It wasn't like Amélie at all to send her something like that out of the blue when she was out on mission duty. She really should've suspected something. Alas, the post-mission giddiness had set in already—the typical brief spike in mood following the sudden disappearance of the extreme mental stress and physical exertion of an average mission—and she wasn't thinking clearly enough to puzzle through the implications. That her favorite girl was wearing her favorite color didn't help in the slightest.

Feeling a bit silly, herself, Angela took a selfie of her own to send: still in the Valkyrie suit, face streaked with sweat and blood and ash, hair wild and windswept—a lopsided grin, a crooked peace sign thrown with her free hand. Her accompanying message was equally casual, a simple "Home soon, tho" followed by a pair of heart emoticons.

She'd scarcely had the time to lock her phone's screen again before it alerted her to a new message from Amélie. "As in tonight soon?" Angela shot back an affirmation. Amélie's reply took a little longer this time. Angela quirked a brow when the message finally appeared.

"Perfect," it read. "I'll pick you up from the hangar. Go ahead and inform your team that you will not be making it out to the bar with them. You're all mine tonight, chérie."

Ah, so her girlfriend was in a  _ mood _ . That suited Angela just fine; she didn't ever really care for the celebratory drinks following a successful mission anyway. Being with Amélie was far more likely to get her relaxed and unwound than any amount of liquor ever was. That, of course, didn't stop Lena from teasing her about it for the remainder of the flight back to the base.

Amélie, as promised, was waiting for her when they finally disembarked, looking just off the catwalk in a sweater and jeans. They didn't say a word initially as Amélie swept Angela up into the usual bone-crushing post-mission hug. The tight grip was grounding for them both, a reminder that the other was alive and well and with them, and Angela welcomed the attention, tucking herself into Amélie's taller form and smiling at the soft, familiar scent of her perfume.

Amélie, for her part, simply sighed softly into Angela's wild blonde curls, running a hand up and down Angela's back as if to reassure herself that the doctor was in one piece. She released her at length, giving her a light shove away for good measure. "You're  _ filthy, _ " she complained, brushing dust and dirt off her previously-immaculate clothing with a sneer.

"What, from the warzone? I hadn't noticed," Angela deadpanned, gesturing at herself.

"You're showering when we get home," Amélie informed her.

Angela laughed. Amélie somehow had the ability to make anything sound like a threat. "Oh no not a shower."

A fist caught the front of the Valkyrie, grasping the fabric tight, and Amélie reeled her in, delivering a near-bruising kiss that very nearly made Angela's knees give in surprise. She grunted at the sharp bite to her lower lip—groaned plaintively at the tug. It stopped as suddenly as it started, leaving Angela stumbling as she was unceremoniously shoved away again. Amélie smirked at the dazed look on her face. "Behave yourself, chérie," she chided with a cryptic half-smile. Her voice dropped then, low and husky. Dangerous. Enchanting golden eyes flashed. "You  _ are _ in trouble, after all."

"Am I?" Angela asked with a hard blink. She'd been gone for  _ a week, _ getting shot at and blown up and sunburned and covered in other people's blood and other bodily fluids. She hadn't even been around to  _ cause _ any trouble. She couldn't fathom what Amélie was on about. "Are you going to tell me what I've done?"

"Mm..." She moved in, and Angela leaned into the expected kiss on instinct. Amélie dodged, pressing a teasing kiss to the corner of her mouth instead. "Not in public,  _ docteur. _ " She gave Angela a light tap on the backside nonetheless and, grinning, continued down the hall towards their shared apartment.

Angela blinked hard once—twice. Then her brows rose, a small smirk touching her lips. So she was  _ "in trouble," _ then. That was... unusual for them. Their exploits typically involved a power struggle—one that Angela almost invariably came out on top of—throughout the entire evening, but if Amélie's tone was anything to go by, she was expecting more of a... power exchange. On a usual day, Angela would protest that (loudly and viciously), but after getting kicked around for a week the thought of even  _ more _ struggling wasn't nearly as appealing.  _ She absolutely planned it that way, _ Angela thought with a little half-laugh, jogging to catch up to her. There wasn't much any other way Amélie was going to talk her into playing submissive.

So, fine. She'd play along for tonight.

Amélie seemed to be taking it leisurely, though. She helped Angela out of the Valkyrie gear back in their apartment as usual, her touch careful and practiced as she removed the white reinforced body armor from her shoulders and back—her chest and hips. Angela removed her headgear herself. All these were placed carefully on a stand built specifically for the armor to be meticulously checked, cleaned, and maintained later.

Angela sighed in relief at the loss of the extra weight, stretching hard in the skintight black flightsuit, her wings stretching back behind her as well. She didn't miss the way Amélie's gaze lingered at the motion. It took incredible effort not to smirk.

"These are staying on, then?" she teased, shifting her shoulders intentionally to ruffle the golden hardlight feathers, distracting Amélie for another second. Angela grinned outright at that. Typically, that was Amélie's question to ask as she helped Angela out of the heavy uniform. That she neither asked nor moved to begin removing them herself spoke volumes.

If she were a lesser woman, Amélie might've blushed at the pointed inquiry, particularly with the way she was staring fondly at the cybernetic features. As it was, she merely straightened up and rolled her shoulders back. "Correct." There was a little glint in those golden eyes—a smirk twitched at the corner of her mouth. "I have plans. Those feature. They stay." Then it was Angela's turn to blush.

"Duly noted." Angela cleared her throat of the little burr that'd settled into her voice. "I'll just, ah—go shower then."

Amélie's smirk didn't wane. "You do that." Angela turned to head to the bathroom. Amélie caught her by the wrist, reeling her in to kiss her breathless. "One last thing," she purred against Angela's gasping lips, a smudge of scarlet lipstick on her mouth. "'Caduceus.'"

It took Angela a second to process the word. She blinked twice, brow furrowing just slightly. "Wha—"

"If you want me to stop..." Amélie paused to nip Angela's lower lip, drawing a soft groan from the medic. "...then all you have to say is 'caduceus.'"

The implication made Angela clear her throat sharply. She nodded in silence as her blush returned and worsened.

"Good girl. Go clean up." She gave Angela a lingering smack to the ass to get her moving, earning herself a yelp and a glare as she finally made her way to the bathroom.

Amélie supposed she was lucky that the flightsuit Angela wore under the valkyrie suit was so heavy. It would've altogether ruined her fun had Angela noticed when they were pressed together. As it was, she herself had strained not to bring attention to herself. Jeans had, perhaps, not been the best choice.

Amélie went over her supplies in the bedroom again one last time. Just in case. Massage oil—that was expected. A glass of ice water—also expected. Lubricant—expected, and only at Angela's insistence. A length of vermillion nylon rope—not at all expected.

A smirk tugged at her expression once more. She'd fantasized for a long while about how fucking gorgeous Angela would look in orgasm, breathless and struggling against a rope harness as she longed desperately to pull Amélie closer. She wondered with a grin what the forced helplessness would do to her. She couldn't wait to see.

The shower stopped. Amélie calmly coiled the rope back up, stashing it under the nearby pillow to keep it close at hand but out of sight. The bedroom door opened.

Amélie let out a long, slow breath.

Angela had correctly deduced that it was useless to put on anything substantial, and had instead simply wrapped a too-small towel around herself in that way she fucking  _ knew _ did all sorts of things to Amélie.  _ Tricky little thing, _ Amélie thought to herself, leaning back on her hands and openly admiring the exposed skin of Angela's calves and thighs. She wasn't ever getting over how gorgeously toned Angela was.

"Planning on just staring all night?" Angela's quip broke her from her reverie. She grinned down at Amélie, brushing damp curls back from her face. "I thought you had something more... physical?... in mind."

Mm. Right. "Don't backsass me,  _ chaton _ ," she warned in that silky, dangerously cool tone that always hit Angela in the right place. Indeed, coupled with the private nickname, Angela inhaled sharply, pupils blown wide. Amélie held out a hand, parting her knees just slightly and pulling Angela into her lap.

Angela kissed her immediately, tangling her fingers into Amélie's hair as she so loved to do. Amélie merely chuckled into the kiss, allowing the brashness, and slid her hands against her, greedily running her palms over hot, damp skin. Angela's breath hitched at the feeling of Amélie's cold hands on her, but she pressed closer nonetheless, moving to grind her hips into Amélie's—

A pair of cool hands on her hips stopped the movement short.

"Ah-ah," Amélie chided, hands sliding up to peel the towel away, letting it drop to the floor. "Not... yet." Her lips drifted to Angela's jaw, teeth grazing over that sweet spot under her ear that made Angela purr. There was a soft, vaguely mechanical sound as her wings quivered. Amélie lightly traced her fingers up the exquisite softness of the hardlight feathers, earning a soft gasp and softer groan as her fingers eventually found the too-sensitive workings of her spine.

"Your hands are cold," Angela complained faintly, back arching as Amélie splayed them against her skin. She yelped aloud when Amélie bit her outright.

"What did I just say about backsass?" Amélie reminded her coolly, tracing her tongue over the indents her teeth left. Angela shuddered. "Behave yourself,  _ chaton _ ; you're in enough trouble as it is."

The subtle threat under her words was enough to make Angela shiver again. She'd never admit it—to Amélie nor anyone else—but  _ fuck _ it was hot when Amélie brought that no-nonsense domineering personality into the bedroom. She'd had plenty of experience fighting that with a mean streak of her own—had enjoyed more than once a night where she'd lost and woke the next morning deliciously sore all over—but no experience at all with submitting from the start. If the deepening bites and scratches or the dangerous, silky tone were any indicator, though... this could be  _ very _ fun.

"You still haven't told me what I'm in trouble for," she pointed out breathlessly. Amélie's hands slid up her back, stroking thoughtfully at her shoulders before continuing upwards, cool fingers soft and frustratingly light against the heat of her wings.

Angela  _ groaned _ .

"Patience," Amélie murmured into the hollow of her throat.

It was damn hard to be patient, though, and particularly with the maddening touch of Amélie's lips soothing away the sting her teeth left behind. Amélie had given her a safeword, dammit; she'd expected something more than light touches and teasing.

She nearly swore when Amélie unceremoniously upended her on the bed. Amélie merely smirked and made a circular gesture with one finger. "On your stomach,  _ chaton _ ."

"And if I refuse?"

A single dark brow rose. "I wouldn't recommend it."

She turned onto her stomach.

"Mm,  _ good _ girl."

Angela closed her eyes to the thrill that raced down her back, setting a shimmering shiver to her wings and stoking the heat between her thighs.  _ God _ , what Amélie did to her.

The mattress dipped as Amélie moved closer. A cool hand just barely grazed the length of her spine before leaving her trembling again.

The cool massage oil against her too-hot back made Angela gasp and arch into the mattress in a fruitless attempt at getting away. Amélie simply chuckled at her movement before sliding her hands lightly along the fair skin, working the rapidly-warming oil over her and pressing her weight into the tight muscle cushioning Angela's wings and spine. Angela huffed softly in pleasure, feeling herself relaxing under her girlfriend's careful hands as Amélie began her usual post-mission tradition of working the tension out of her back. The average human wasn't really  _ built _ to withstand the type of flight achieved through the Valkyrie, and extended use often left her sore and aching with devastating stresses in muscles that rarely had cause for extreme stress. It was nice, for both of them. Relaxing, even—for both of them.

The rough bite to the back of Angela's neck was unexpected. For one of them.

"You've been keeping secrets,  _ chérie _ ," Amélie hissed against the nape of her neck, cool breath a stark contrast to the heat coiling between Angela's thighs.

"A-about what?" Angela managed to breathe out as Amélie's powerful hands glided down her shoulders, her arms, and clasped her wrists, crossing them over Angela's head, pinning them to the bed with one hand.

Amélie's free hand petting rough at the oversensitive feathering of her wings made Angela nearly choke on air, blue eyes widening in mortified shock as heat flooded her face. Amélie bit her shoulder that time, hard, and Angela jerked weakly below her, trying desperately not to moan aloud.

"A  _ marvel _ , really," Amélie sneered against the bruised skin. "Metal and hardlight that can feel just as well as skin and flesh? A medical  _ miracle _ ,  _ chaton _ ." Her tongue traced against the bite mark, and Angela couldn't help but mewl at the press of her lover's full weight against her back. "Ah, and you were smart enough to patent your designs for a digital nervous system too... Even licensed the patent to prosthetic developers. How very  _ kind _ of you,  _ chaton. _ How  _ noble _ ." Angela squirmed under her, face hot as she realized with mounting embarrassment where this was leading. Amélie tightened her grip—pressed her rougher into the mattress. "Licensing to a  _ sex toy _ company,  _ chérie? _ That's just  _ filthy _ ," Amélie purred in her ear.

Angela stammered, her blush deepening. She had no idea how in the world Amélie could've ever found out about her rare business dealings. She couldn't even  _ name _ anyone she'd told about th... She was going to kill Sombra later.

"You're  _ upset _ about that?" Angela snorted out instead, ignoring the heat stirring in her blood as Amélie straddled her backside, one hand pinning her wrists down. Angela could only just see Amelie's other hand slide up, towards the pillows instead.

"About the deal?" Amélie chuckled. "No. I  _ am _ upset, however, that I've been so...  _ deprived. _ " Angela's eyes went wide when her wrists were finally separated and yanked down behind her back—she gasped harshly at the touch of nylon rope against her bare skin. Amélie nipped tauntingly at that sweet spot just behind her ear as she began winding the rope about her wrists. "To think, an entire line of touch-reactive toys made possible by the esteemed Doctor Ziegler, and I hadn't heard a  _ word  _ about getting to try them myself? Tsk tsk. How  _ selfish, docteur. _ "

Amélie nearly groaned aloud to see Angela blushing and panting beneath her, wrists bound behind her back in a simple double-column knot.  _ Gorgeous. _ She simply  _ had _ to talk Angela into red more often. Angela cleared her throat, trying to regain some control. "A-and how do you intend to...'punish' m—" A startled yelp slipped her lips when Amélie hauled her up to her knees by the rope about her wrists, pressing her flush to Amélie's front. Her wings quivered reflexively against her, the warm feathers brushing against the skin of her back, making her arch.

"I thought it only fair,  _ chaton, _ " Amélie hissed, yanking her close by her rope lead once more, using her free hand to pull Angela's hips back against her own, "since you've so  _ willingly _ contributed to others' pleasure..." She bit Angela's shoulder  _ hard _ , earning a gasp, cybernetic wings jolting with the shock. "...You're going to be  _ my _ plaything tonight."

She rolled her hips into Angela's—immediately cursed at the shock of sensation, the warmth that stirred low in her belly. ... _ My my. _ She'd figured, of course, with how sensitive Angela's wings were, that using similar technology in a more  _ adult _ manner could only be overwhelming in the best of ways, but...  _ Ah.  _ Angela's lidded eyes had snapped wide open at the feeling, lips parting slightly and cheeks flushing a deep crimson at the unmistakable press of Amélie's toy against her backside. Amélie grinned. "You seem surprised," she noted cheekily, scraping the nails of her free hand over Angela's bare thigh. "Did you think I wouldn't want to  _ indulge? _ "

"...and the rope?" Angela scarcely murmured the question out.

Amélie's hand moved slowly up her front: fingertips barely grazing coarse blonde curls, thumb tracing slow circles up her stomach, palm brushing tauntingly over pierced nipples—coming to rest curled loosely about her throat. Angela trembled, unmoving, uncertain. "As I said," Amélie murmured into her ear, cool lips scarcely brushing her skin, "you're  _ my _ plaything for the night. Which means..." A light nip. "...you're going to  _ lie back _ and  _ take _ whatever I decide to  _ give you _ ..." Another teasing rock of the hips. "...and you're going to  _ thank me _ for whatever I  _ let you have _ ..." A careful squeeze of that porcelain throat. "...and you're going to  _ hold out _ like a  _ good girl— _ " here Angela shuddered sharply "—until I decide you've  _ earned _ your orgasm." She squeezed just barely  _ harder _ , reminding Angela just which of them was in control for the evening, holding Angela's breath in her grasp for a second before releasing, letting her gasp for air. "Have I made myself clear,  _ chérie? _ "

It took Angela a moment to get her breath back, and another still for the order to register—for the feeling of soft nylon rope wrapping around her ribs, just above her breasts, to spark little jolts of vague unease and want along her senses.

"When did I agree to this?" Angela inquired, sarcasm dripping from her words. The rope tightened a hair, forcing her back into a slight arch, and Amélie nipped her shoulder as she knotted the rope at Angela's sternum. Angela shuddered at the pressure about her.

"You have a safeword," Amélie purred darkly. "You're welcome to use it." Angela's breath caught as she wound the rope about her ribs again, under her breasts this time, and cinched it tight. Another knot, a few twists and loops, and Amélie had connected the two circles of rope between her breasts. A sharp blush heated her face as Amélie ran a taunting palm over her chest, thumbing her pierced nipples, testing the tightness of the harness. "Mm... you do look ravishing in rope,  _ chaton. _ "

" _ Fuck, _ " Angela grated out as the remaining rope was thrown over her opposite shoulder and pulled taut, arching her back again as Amélie tied the harness off with a flourish. Her eyes closed tight, trying to ignore the deep flush creeping down her neck and over her ears at the thrill of being manhandled like this.

They immediately snapped back open at the tug of rope about her wings, folding and pinning them against her back, and Angela drew in a ragged gasp at the altogether unfamiliar feeling of being made so...  _ helpless. _

_ Amélie... _

" _ Madame. _ " The touch of cool, silken lips to the rapidly-heating mechanics of her wings brought Angela back to the present, just in time to catch the chiding correction. She blinked hard. She hadn't even realized she'd whispered Amélie's name, too lost in sensation to pay any mind to her own plaintive pleas.

Her hazy blue eyes cleared and hardened, however, at the term. "Oh absolutely not," Angela tried to scoff. It came out far breathier than intended.

The sharp pain of teeth against the hypersensitive skin adjacent her cybernetics nearly made her choke on utterly nothing.

"It was not a request," Amélie said simply, silken palms sliding over Angela's hips—up her stomach—idly dipping below the taut rope just to make her shiver. "It was an order,  _ chérie. _ Will you comply?"

"I am  _ not _ calling you  _ madame, _ " Angela repeated in a proper huff, turning her head in an attempt to glare.

A pale cyanotic hand fisted at one of the elaborate knots of her harness, yanking the rope taut, bowing her back again and drawing a strangled gasp out of her. A slow grin crept onto Amélie's face. Yes, she could  _ certainly _ get used to having this level of control over her so typically-domineering girlfriend.

"You must  _ want  _ to get punished."

The low threat in her voice furrowed Angela's brow and set a deep flush in her cheeks, though Amélie couldn't quite tell if it was from fluster or insult. "I am not a  _ child— _ "

" _ Non, chaton, _ though you  _ are _ rather... disobedient." Her lips teasingly chased the curve of Angela's ear as she half-struggled against the rope digging into her skin. "And clearly in need of correction. Hm?"

The grip Amélie had on the harness was plenty enough control to yank Angela around with minimal effort. The second hand fisted tight in her hair as Angela was unceremoniously bent over Amélie's lap was for little more than show—and Angela seemed full aware of that. Amélie couldn't quite place the German Angela spat out as she struggled in Amélie's lap, but she could tell a swearing fit when she heard one.

" _ Language, chaton. _ "

A gasp caught in Angela's throat at the impact of Amélie's hand coming down sharply on her ass, and she jolted in her girlfriend's lap, eyes widening sharply at the sting.

"You  _ will  _ call me madame," Amélie repeated softly, a soft threatening undertone to her words. "Are we clear?"

"I'm not calling you that," Angela hissed in reply. She got another firm slap, this time high on the backs of her thighs, and she  _ did  _ yelp.

"Madame," Amélie said sternly.

" _ No. _ "

Another blow, overlapped with the first, and the sting made her gasp in pain, fists and wings flexing under vermillion ropes. Amélie waited for a moment for a reply, but Angela kept her mouth clenched shut. She gave her ass another rough slap to mirror the previous, and Angela yelped behind grit teeth. Amélie's smirk was vicious.

"I can do this as long as it takes, chaton."

Angela glared up at her. Amélie thought that was hilarious, given that she was presently bent over her lap. But Amélie would indulge.

Smack. Grunt. Smack. Yelp. Smack. Growl. Smack. Whimper. A pause—silence. Smack.

"—..." She heard Angela choke something out. Amélie paused, grinning.

"What was that?"

"... _ madame _ ," Angela spat, bitter. Amélie gave her another slap to each cheek of her reddened ass for the venom in her voice, making her whine and buck against her.

"And what do we  _ say? _ "

Angela shuddered at the heated promise in her voice. "...Thank you, madame."

Amélie tauntingly squeezed the stinging flesh. " _ Good _ girl." She caressed the abused skin thoughtfully for a long moment—it was unlikely given her biology, but she could still fantasize about how hot Angela would look with impact bruises all over her ass—and then, with a smirk, slipped her fingers down between Angela's thighs to gauge a reaction.

Her façade broke for a moment, eyes widening in surprise at how hot and  _ wet _ the session had already made Angela—enough so that she'd been dripping for a  _ while _ if the wet spot on Amélie's trouser thigh was any indication.

"...mon  _ Dieu _ , you  _ wicked _ little thing," Amélie murmured, grinning even as Angela's soft blue eyes clenched shut, face flushed and chest heaving with her panting breaths—adorably mortified. "All that  _ fuss _ , and here you were  _ getting off to it _ the whole time—"

"I  _ wasn't _ ," Angela whispered. She tried to sound stubborn. It came out a plea.

Two digits sank into her, sliding effortlessly knuckle-deep into her aching cunt, shutting Angela up with a long, desperate moan. Her back arched—wings strained helplessly against the vermillion rope.

"If not to that, then  _ what, chaton? _ " Amélie purred, altogether unconcerned with the way Angela was soaking her jeans. She teased Angela relentlessly, drawing her fingers in and out so slowly Angela could scarcely feel the movement. "Being bound? Being  _ subservient? _ " Angela trembled in silence. "Do you  _ enjoy _ being used for  _ my _ pleasure, Angela?"

Her whimper was scarcely audible. Amélie's grin went wicked.

" _ Well _ then."

Angela whined at the brush of the rope over her breasts and shoulders—setting a shiver into her at the light touch to her feathers—as Amélie led her down onto her stomach, bent over the side of the bed. A light nudge with a heeled boot to the inside of Angela's calf spread her stance further, exposing glistening curls and earning a needy little moan.

"One good turn deserves another...  _ non? _ "

"Please," Angela breathed, eyes clenching shut as a soft blush colored her cheeks.

"Mm. Stay put." Amélie left her waiting a few moments as she languidly stripped down, deliberately taking her time. Sharp golden eyes eagerly traced over Angela's body—bound and bare—making note of each little twitch of her wings, each little quiver of her thighs. God, but she was beautiful in bondage. The solid heat stirring between her thighs was new, though—as was the feeling of her jeans sliding over the sensitive reactive surface of the hardlight dildo.

She gave herself an experimental pump with one hand as she kicked out of her jeans—hissed in surprise at the jolt of pleasure that raced up her back. Amélie supposed she shouldn't have been surprised at the rush, having seen her girlfriend's reaction to having her reactive wings touched and caressed, but... well.  _ This will be more fun than anticipated. _

"Simply exquisite," she hummed softly, trailing a hand over Angela's low back as she reached for the lubricant. Angela shuddered; Amélie grinned. " _ Sensitive _ ." Though she supposed she could hardly tease when the simple act of lubricating her cock was enough to make her twitch. Her hand passed carefully over the smooth, unusually-warm surface, languidly pumping the toy with slick fingers till she was satisfied that Angela wouldn't treat her to  _ another _ lecture on safe toy usage.

Angela, for her part, merely gasped at the touch of the cool gel against the aching  _ heat _ of her cunt, hips jerking instinctively forward against the edge of the mattress. Amélie tutted, leaning down to press lingering kisses and licks to the mechanics of her spine between the intricate red knotwork. The golden hardlight feathering ruffled immediately, wings quivering in their bondage. Angela tried to jolt away again, whining at the excess stimulation. "Stop squirming," she ordered, smirking into the soft, warm skin of Angela's shoulder. Her fingers curled slightly, dipping inside and finding Angela even wetter for it. " _ Bonne fille, _ " Amélie said when Angela whimpered, muscles taut with the effort of remaining still.

Angela could only groan at the compliment, turning her head to bury her face into the rumpled duvet, just as acutely aware of the flush in her face and chest as the lewd  _ throbbing _ between her thighs and the languid strokes of Amélie's cool fingers against her heated flesh. She scarcely noticed the low whimper of " _ god, please _ " that slipped past her lips—might not have noticed at all had Amélie not shuddered against her with a soft, pleased rumble.

" _ Such _ a good girl."

Angela's lips parted to plead again—fuck,  _ anything _ if Amélie would stop fucking  _ teasing _ —and in a single, effortless motion all vocabulary vanished from her tongue in an instant, blue eyes widening sharply, her gasp deafening in the silence of the room.

Amélie couldn't help a low, startled swear at the altogether peculiar and exquisite sensation of actually being  _ inside  _ her girlfriend—she had, of course, sunk her fingers into the doctor innumerable times before, had often murmured filthy little nothings to Angela in the heat of the moment about how  _ fucking good _ she felt around her fingers, but  _ this _ ... it hardly even compared.

Angela seemed to agree, if that sharp, deliciously high moan was any indication. Amélie's hands fell to those soft, pale hips, steadying her as she thrust roughly inside. God, Angela was so  _ fucking  _ wet for her, the toy sinking fully inside in a single motion. Angela cried out, half muffled against the duvet; Amélie could only freeze, gasping softly, trying desperately to recover some sense of control even as Angela's cunt tightened around her.

On some level, Angela felt exactly as usual—deliciously soft and slick, just a touch unnaturally warm—but undeniably so,  _ so _ good. On another, the sensation was so utterly different now that she could scarcely compare the two. She snapped out of her thoughts when Angela shifted under her, trying desperately to rock back against her hips. Amélie gave her an unsympathetic smack across her still-sore ass, startling a yelp out of her and stilling her instantly.

"I told you, chérie," Amélie snarled into her ear, one hand fisting into blonde curls to wrench her head back, "you're  _ my  _ plaything tonight.  _ You  _ don't get to come till  _ I say so _ ."

She gave an experimental pump of her hips, biting her lip at the unfamiliar shock of pleasure from the friction. Oh, she could get used to this—her needy girlfriend hot and slick around her, bound and subservient, whimpering and begging for a rough touch...

Amélie adjusted her position and thrust in again, rocking her hips just a touch harder, ripping a moan from Angela's throat. "Oh god," Angela breathed, clear blue eyes dark with need. "A-Amélie..." She got another sharp smack to the rear, raising a scarlet handprint on her fair skin. She yelped, blushing prettily at the sting.

"Madame," Amélie corrected, voice husky. She added a touch more force, then, her grip on Angela's hair tightening as their hips collided.

Angela's inhale was ragged. Her hands flexed into useless fists and released behind her back, still trapped in the scarlet rope, and her wings trembled in their bondage, the hardlight feathers ruffling. They twitched once—twice. "Madame," she finally agreed in a breathy half-groan.

The low affirmation with which she said the word made Amélie shudder. The release of control seemed to affect Angela as well—Amélie groaned sharply to feel a quick tightening below.

"That's it," she muttered, loosening her grip on Angela's hair just a touch. Her free hand slid roughly up the cybernetic spine, drawing a divine little gasp from the doctor, and Amélie had to swear again at the sensation of Angela contracting around her. "How are you doing?" Amélie kissed up the titanium spine before biting soft at that pale, tempting neck.

" _ Fuck, _ " was all Angela managed to rasp out. Amélie chuckled darkly, bracing her free hand between Angela's wings and tangling into the rope for leverage before thrusting in fully. The sensation was just as overwhelming, but Amélie was able to keep herself together now at least. Angela simply shouted wordlessly, half-muffled against the duvet.

"That's the idea,  _ chérie _ ," Amélie taunted lowly, rolling her hips in again. "If you want something more  _ specific _ —" her fingers slid down Angela's spine, coming to rest at her hip "—you'll have to  _ ask me _ for it."

Angela didn't give any sign that she'd heard her, simply groaning low and desperate with every rough thrust in. Amélie's nails scraped hard over her hip, leaving scarlet trails along the curve of her ass, and Angela hissed at the sting. Amélie gave her hair another teasing tug, loosing a long, desperate moan from her lips. "Deeper," Angela gasped scarcely out. She yelped at the slap against her ass, her hips jolting forward against the mattress.

"Do I still need to teach you manners, chaton?" There was a soft, dangerous edge to her question that made Angela shudder.

"...No madame," she rasped out, the term unfamiliar on her tongue. Amélie growled out her approval, adjusting her grip and pawing at Angela's hip. "I-I—" Stars flickered behind her eyes; this was altogether overwhelming. "...Please, madame, deeper..."

"Good girl," her Mistress purred out, adjusting her stance to deepen the motion. Angela gave a low cry at the shock of pleasure the new position afforded. "Can you  _ stay  _ a good girl for me, though?"

"I-I..."

Amélie had to admit that the sight alone of Angela squirming and trembling under her, bound in vermillion ropes, panting, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to sweat-slick skin, pressing her hips back into Amélie's with every thrust...  _ Well _ . She'd definitely be filing this mental image away for later.

The feeling of Angela's cunt contracting about her, though, was nearly enough to break her role again as she gasped out a soft " _ merde _ ." It took her another moment to make the connection.

" _ Absolutely _ not," she hissed through her teeth, yanking Angela's head back by her hair. "Hold out. You are  _ not _ to come before I give you  _ permission _ ."

The look in Angela's eyes was sheer carnal desperation. "I-I—madame, please," she gasped out lowly.

" _ Not _ before me."

A shudder wracked her spine; her wings jolted in their bondage. Angela's moan was high and desperate. "Please, madame, I—I  _ can't _ ..." Angela whined sharply, a jolt running up the length of her spine at an intentional swirl of her Mistress' hips when they collided with hers. The space between her thighs nearly  _ ached _ for release, the searing heat and blinding pressure nearly stealing language entirely from her tongue, leaving her gasping and panting wordlessly. The scrape of Amélie's nails down her side made her shudder deeply " _ —please, madame, please— _ "

Amélie's lips trailed up her back, scarcely missing the sensitive cybernetics, making her tremble with expectation. A soft breath of a chuckle at her spine. Then: " _ Sois sage. _ " Angela tried to protest the mocking comment till the edge of Amélie's teeth nicked hard into her shoulder, breaking the soft skin and making Angela gasp, eyes going wide for only a second before clenching shut again.

Amélie felt her breath freeze in her throat, her own golden eyes widening as Angela clenched hard around her, pulsing, the space between them dripping with heat and need—Amélie cursed a second time, her voice hoarse, nails biting into Angela's skin as she fucked her harder, hearing Angela gasp once—twice—

Angela slumped, gasping for breath like she'd been holding it all night. Amélie growled at the deferred orgasm, her muscles tight and trembling with need. God, she'd been so  _ fucking _ close...

_ But, _ the thought came unbidden, her lips curving up into a sly smile,  _ Angela broke the rules. _

"Oh you naughty little thing," Amélie murmured, grinning wickedly as Angela trembled and panted in her aftermath, thighs slick and glistening with the evidence of her orgasm. "I didn't give you permission to come,  _ chaton _ . Nor did you wait for your mistress to come first." Angela whimpered faintly, all too aware of the rule she'd broken. Amélie tutted softly, looking down at her cock, slick and dripping with Angela's ecstasy, with faux disappointment. "And you've made such a  _ mess _ ..."

"Forgive me, madame," Angela scarcely breathed out, eyes dark and lidded. Amélie shuddered, biting her cheek to hold in a surprised moan—she'd never heard the term slip off Angela's tongue so earnestly before.

She wondered how far Angela had slipped into the mindset—and how willing Angela might be in seeking that forgiveness.

"Well." She hooked a finger into the knot of rope that rested between Angela's breasts, yanking her up into a seated position—and then leading her down onto her knees on the floor. "Perhaps something can be arranged."

Angela's breath stuttered, glancing from the sex-slick cock erect at Amélie's hips to her mistress' lidded, expectant gaze further up. A faint, helpless moan slipped from her lips.

A small smirk twitched at the corner of Amélie's mouth. "You made the mess, you clean it up, pet." Her hand tangled into Angela's hair, tugging sharply. "Open that pretty mouth for me."

Angela was no delicate flower in any sense of the phrase. Nor was she any kind of prude, or puritan, or... well. She was plenty experienced in sexual matters, had done and said plenty of things in the dark of the night that would make the average person blush. Being ordered to lick clean a toy that'd been used to thoroughly fuck her into whimpering, begging submission only seconds earlier was not one of those things—particularly not a toy which the wearer could feel, the technology for which Angela could blame nobody but herself... This was just filthy.

Desperate blue eyes flickered up to meet unyielding gold. A single dark brow rose—a pale, cyanotic hand fell to a bare hip. Waiting. Anticipating.

Angela shuddered, the weight of her mistress' expectation lingering heavy on her shoulders before a deep, quivering gasp shrugged it down her spine, reigniting the throbbing heat at her cunt.

How could she deny her?

Amélie's gasp at the touch of Angela's tongue on her was deafening in the silence of their bedroom. Angela trembled to hear it—to know that she was the one that caused it—and, emboldened, parted her lips further to take the head fully into her mouth, tasting her own desperation against the heated hardlight. The noise that caught in Amélie's throat then was low and feral—a snarl more than anything—and it trailed into a shuddering groan as Angela obediently swirled her tongue about the tip.

" _ Chaton _ ," her Mistress hissed out, fingers tightening in blonde locks, holding her steady. Angela dragged her tongue over the head of her Mistress' cock, ensuring she didn't miss a drop. Her Mistress' breath was ragged; it seemed all traces of English slipped her mind. " _ Bonne fille, bonne fille... _ " Angela gasped at the praise against the heat of the slick shaft, moving to lap eagerly at the underside, cleaning her up as thoroughly as possible. Her Mistress' hips twitched sharply, another low groan rumbling in her throat. The sound only worsened the hot ache pounding relentlessly between Angela's thighs. She needed to hear more—she needed her Mistress to come to pieces under her tongue—god, she needed to know how good she was doing. " _ Chaton _ ," her Mistress gasped sharply at the scarcest scrape of Angela's teeth. " _ Mon Dieu, suce ma bite— _ "

"Yes,  _ madame _ ," Angela found herself agreeing hoarsely, pressing breathless kisses to her Mistress' trembling thighs, deliriously nuzzling against the silken skin, feeling muscle built from years of dancing and years of fighting flex sharp under her tongue, and she could only think to say, "thank you,  _ madame _ ."

She thought she heard her Mistress groan out a startled " _ Merde _ ."

Angela took the toy's head into her mouth again, glancing up to see the scorching desire in those dark golden eyes. She groaned softly, unbidden, and her Mistress' hips jolted again at the shock of vibration. Angela sucked hard, dragged her tongue lewdly up the underside, and her Mistress swore sharply again, short nails digging hard into her scalp... Angela needed more.   
  
She pulled back to press open-mouthed kisses to her Mistress' shaft. " _ Tire-moi les cheveux, _ " she rasped, slipping easily into the filthy language of a lyric tongue. She scarcely flicked her tongue against the tip again, delighting in the way those soft, powerful thighs flexed sharply at the stimulation. " _ Madame... s'il vous plaît. _ "   
  
Her Mistress  _ gasped  _ in surprise, a hard tremor running through her, and Angela felt her own want slicking her inner thighs again, leaving her wet and wanting for her Mistress' touch.   
  
" _ S'il vous plaît, madame, s'il vous plaît. _ " Angela wasn't above begging. " _ Ça fait mal mais j'aime ça— _ "   
  
The sharp yank of her hair to force her back up on her knees made Angela gasp in startled pain melting into liquid pleasure, and she scarcely had the presence of mind to press her thumb tight against her palm in a fist before her Mistress' cock was in her mouth again, deeper, those fucking gorgeous abdominals flexing hard as her Mistress so eagerly fucked her mouth...   
  
" _ Tais-toi, _ " Amélie found herself snarling, feeling fucking inhumanly hot at the sound of Angela begging for it—in  _ French _ , no less, the little  _ slut _ , she  _ knew _ what that did to her—on her knees before her. She thrust rough into Angela's mouth again, growling at the too-good vibrations of her pet's helpless moan around her cock. " _ Tais-toi, _ " she hissed again. A shudder wracked her body. " _...Plus fort. _ " Angela obeyed, sucking harder for her like a good little girl—   
  
Amélie gasped when Angela pulled back just enough to suck greedily at the head and—fuck— _ fuck _ —   
  
The bolt of sheer pleasure struck her all at once, threatening to rend her mind asunder, and Amélie shouted without meaning to, hands buried in her pet's silken hair, holding her close as she rode it out, near-blind through a sudden sheen of tears, shaking hard in her ecstasy at the rush of release—   
  
Angela's soft blue eyes shot wide open and she reared back, gasping in shock, that pretty mouth of hers slick with off-white liquid, and Amélie swore viciously at the sudden lack of stimulation, one hand grasping herself to _ finish the fucking job _ , her toy releasing twice more on Angela's startled face—her heaving breasts—and Amélie had to grasp at the bedpost, gasping, to keep her balance.   
  
She shuddered with aftershock at the sight of her pretty pet there: bound, kneeling, staring up at her in wide-eyed shock, her mistress' cum splashed over her in lewd arcs, the translucent liquid warm on her pet's gorgeous bare skin...   
  
"This is a good look for you, chaton," she said softly, smirking, voice still rough from her release.   
  
Angela swallowed hard—grimaced at the reminder of the mouthful she'd taken—then, when her gaze cleared slightly, rolled her eyes. "Flavored? Really?"   
  
Amélie laughed, a breathless sound. "I'm not  _ uncivilized _ ,  _ chérie _ ."   
  
"You didn't tell me to expect that," Angela added, still trying to catch her own breath. She licked her lips absently—blushed at the lingering taste of the faintly sweet faux cum on her mouth—took in another trembling breath.   
" _ Désolée _ ," Amélie chuckled, sounding not at all sorry. "It was not my intention. If I may remind you— _ you _ were the one to break the rules."

"Please," Angela snorted, their respective roles slipping from them easily. She hesitated a moment nonetheless. "Though... I will say that it was not... wholly unwelcome."

Amélie's grin was wicked. "I'll keep that in mind."

Angela's knees were aching fiercely from the position she'd been in for so long, leaning heavily on Amélie when she helped her to her feet. Amélie kissed her temple and sat her on the edge of the bed for a moment to go fetch a warm, damp washcloth. Angela could only tremble at the pass of the cloth over her face and chest, still feeling immensely overstimulated. Amélie chuckled and discarded the washcloth on the ground, pressing Angela into the mattress with soft kisses. "Better?"

"My shoulders are getting stiff."

That was fair; she  _ had _ been tied up awhile. A few knots undone and reworked into the main harness still framing her pretty torso had Angela rolling onto her side, rubbing her forearms and stretching her wings. Amélie pulled closer, peppering her face with kisses, jolting at the brush of her toy against Angela's flat stomach. Angela laughed softly, breath warm against Amelie's lips.

"Still sensitive?" she murmured, nipping lightly at Amélie through the kiss.

"As though you aren't," Amélie accused lowly.

Angela's little smirk was uncharacteristically smug. "I'm amazed  _ you're _ able to go again so quickly." Amélie opened her mouth for a scathing reply, but Angela's soft, warm lips stole whatever words she'd come up with. Amélie only just registered the light brush of Angela's fingers lazily stroking up and down her back and sides before she was summarily flipped onto her back. Angela grinned down at her and brushed a stray blonde lock from her face, throwing a leg over to straddle her thighs.

Amélie's surprise melted easily into a smirk of her own. "Now  _ this _ is a role reversal," she murmured, cyanotic hands moving to grasp her hips.

"Isn't that my line?" Angela teased, gripping Amélie's toy by the base. Amélie huffed softly, nails biting into fair skin. Angela laughed, giving her an experimental pump or two, twisting teasingly at the tip, before shifting further up to straddle her properly.

Amélie's head dropped back against the pillow. She cursed softly, nails digging into the pale skin of Angela's hips as she rode her slowly. She was nearly overwhelmed herself, trembling and gasping with each of Angela's movements, but watching Angela fucking herself like this was well worth it—particularly now with her wrists and wings free, fingers fisting in the bedsheets and pale hardlight feathering trembling with every little gasp and moan... Angela's pale blue eyes lidded with exhausted rapture, lower lip caught absently between her teeth... Amélie wasn't sure there was a sight in the world more gorgeous than her girlfriend in ecstasy above her.

Angela's soft, muscular thighs flexed hard with each roll of her hips, and Amélie purred to feel the movement under her palms.

"That's it," she encouraged softly, teasingly lifting her hips into Angela's next press down, making those pretty blue eyes widen—Amélie half-moaned herself at the sensation of Angela's cunt contracting around her. "That's it. Just enjoy it."

"Amélie," she breathed out helplessly, back arching beautifully. "I—god,  _ Amélie... _ "

Amélie bit her lip, palms sliding up Angela's sides to palm at her breasts, half-desperate to hear it again. As delightful as it was to hear Angela pleading for her  _ madame _ , there wasn't a sound in the universe more arousing than Angela moaning her name for her. " _ Bonne fille, _ " she murmured, tracing her thumb around a stiff pierced nipple. Her eyes darted up, admiring the flush in Angela's cheeks at the compliment. " _...Magnifique. _ " She teased Angela's piercings for a moment, delighting in the way Angela's chest heaved against her hands as she panted for breath. "Mm... Come for me,  _ chérie. _ "

"Oh," Angela gasped suddenly, eyes widening. "Amé— _ oh— _ " And they clenched shut in an instant.

Amélie gasped in turn to feel Angela's slick heat clench  _ hard _ around her, eyes darting back up to catch Angela's back arching, wings half-splayed behind her, the gilded feathers trembling in time with the quivering of Angela's thighs against her. Angela scarcely managed to get Amélie's name out in a pathetic little whimper, fingers fisting in the sheets, needy cunt squeezing Amélie's toy... Amélie could only curse and buck into the motion as Angela's hips came down on her own—and again when the dam broke, heat and ecstasy flooding her senses as she came.

When she came to, Angela had all but collapsed on top of her, quivering and panting into the curve of her neck. She felt vastly overheated against Amélie's cooler skin—Amélie would have to ask her to move away after only a few moments, she knew—but for now the solid weight against her was... nice. Cold fingers absently traced up and down the artificial column of her spine. Angela twitched against her and mumbled out a soft complaining noise that only made Amélie chuckle.

At length Angela propped herself up on her elbows to kiss her softly, an embrace Amélie willingly melted into. She felt a soft puff of laughter against her cheek when Angela pulled scarcely away, but couldn't find it in her to be concerned. "Hm?"

"Sorry for smudging your lipstick,  _ schatzli, _ " Angela laughed lowly, wiping at the vermillion stain with her thumb.

**Author's Note:**

> none of you are free of sin


End file.
